The End of All Eternities
by Nallasariel the Weeper
Summary: Giant crossover. The Realms of Fantasia, the many universes where all of the fictional characters live within, is dying. A new Fellowship spanning from Artemis Fowl, Jack Sparrow, Hermione Granger, and many others is forged to try and save their lands.
1. Earth to Mars

Disclaimer: This has to be the hugest and biggest crossover project in the history of fanfiction.net, so I will only give you a brief list of what is herein:

_The Lord of the Rings_, by J.R.R. Tolkien

_Artemis Fowl_, by Eoin Colfer

_His Dark Materials_, by Phillip Pullman

_Harry Potter_, by J.K. Rowling

_'Abhorsen' books_, by Garth Nix

_The Circle of Magic_, by Tamora Pierce

This list shall be growing on an almost chapterly basis. No, don't go! For any books you haven't read, I shall be including introductions to their various 'Realms' at the introduction of each character. So, basically, you won't have needed to read the actual books to get the characters, although it is recommended. Also, so people won't get terribly confused, at the beginning of each chapter there shall be a brief synopsis that should jog your memory for each character. 

More Author's Notes: This story is co-written by Mothostwen, who is a very dear friend of mine at school. As a result, if you love this story to death (Fat chance), you can thank her too.

This story is completely original. This idea came to me when I saw several of the above stories together at a bookshelf in Barnes and Noble, and was not in any way copied from any stories here. If I accidentally copied a fanfic here, I assure you it was completely accidental. 

Characters featured thus far:

Galadriel: Blonde with blue eyes, tall, one of the most powerful Elves in Middle Earth. Her character is in Valinor (She took the dieing Nenya, one of the threee Elven Rings, and the prophetic Mirror with her.)

Celeborn: Silver hair, and silver-ish eyes. Husband of Galadriel. An Elf. 

Chapter One: Earth to Mars

~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was perhaps ten years from now that the first rocket landed on Mars.

The effect was almost instantaneous; people began to turn from the lives they had built on Earth and look to the stars for power and glory, away from the stories and fantasies they had once treasured. Anything seemed possible to the ten billion people, and soon rockets were leaving by the hundred to colonize Mars, and then on to the more habitable moons. Children threw away their stories in favor of the complex engineering programs they would need to become the heroic spaceship captains they idoled. 

Because of this, the Realms of Fantasia were dying.

Fantasia was a curious place, considered even so by its many queer residents. It was made purely by the stories created in the minds of the many writers out there, and sustained through the readers' infinite imagination. For every story and alternate universe created, there was a Realm, with all its characters and places of considerable repute. 

First of the Realms was Arda, with Middle Earth and Valinor. Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_ was the first major fantasy novel, and thus the people of the Arda Realm were counted amongst the most powerful. However, few people cared for the intricacies of the Maiar and the Valar, and they were among the first to fade away.

Thousands of other authors followed in his footsteps in the creation of fantasy, and thousands of Realms followed. Everyone from Lloyd Alexander to C.S. Lewis to Garth Nix unwittingly helped create the Realms, and Fantasia grew in power as people's imaginations soared. But now…

Galadriel turned with a heartfelt sigh from the Mirror, pondering on what she had seen. The Mirror showed many things, and not even she could command the visions seen within. Of late, it had showed dark images, terrifying visions of the Outside and the future of Fantasia.

The people of the Outside were losing their imagination to the world of technology, and whatever comfort they found in exploring the Realms of Fantasia was disappearing. Something had to be done. 

She looked up at the stars, twisting the glimmering Nenya on her finger. The _mithril_ and adamant ring glowed a clear white for a few moments, not seen since she had sailed away on the Grey Ship, and then shimmered back down to the noncommittal dullness. Far above, Eärendil's Star pulsed in answer, the Silmaril in the sky. Other stars around the beacon flamed, and the wave of shimmering light rippled outwards, until at last the strange glimmer faded beyond the horizon, towards the stars of other Realms.

"You worry yourself, _vanimelda_." Celeborn whispered, walking into the silent glade besides her. 

Galadriel sighed, closing her eyes against the sudden wave of exhaustion. "The years are not light upon me, nor is the upcoming task."

Celeborn's brow creased, and lifted again as he realized the weight within her words. "Fantasia is dying." He murmured, his silvery eyes darkening with concern. "We are all fading away."

The fountains of Lothlórien tinkled gently, sounding like laughter in the wind in the sudden gap of poignant silence. Galadriel leaned her head against Celeborn's chest for support, a few tears trickling silently down her pale face. Celeborn squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "You have called the Great amongst Fantasia, and they have never failed before. We have survived through worst peril then this, and we shall again."

Galadriel's face upturned, looking at Celeborn's grave face with sorrow etched in her sapphire eyes. "How can you be so sure? We cannot survive the Fading much longer. None of Fantasia can. We have been lingering for a world that no longer needs us. We are all dying." Celeborn was silent at this, and he hugged Galadriel tightly to him, seeking as much support as he was giving. 

Far above in the velvet-black sky, the Eärendil's Star flickered for a few moments, and sputtered into nothingness. It had Faded…. 

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More notes: 

This chapter is as depressing as it gets.

No beta reader is needed. This is purely a project between friends. 

Don't worry, Eärendil's Vingilotë and Silmaril are coming back. 

The language barrier in between Middle Earth (Westron) and the rest of all these Realms has been dealt with. Or will be dealt with when they finally meet up (In many many many chapters from now).  

If that didn't make sense, there shall be a better explanation next chapter.

Weekly updates are a safe bet, and the chapters after this one are going to be LONG. As in 20-25 pages-in-a-notebook long. 

Please do not put in suggestions with interactions in your reviews. We know exactly what we want to do, and we, not trying to sound terribly cocky, don't need or want that sort of help. And it's probably already going in here already.

All characters shall be very in canon. It's more fun to write that way for character interaction.

There shall probably be a touch of romance near the end, but it all depends. Neither of us appreciates romance, and it would not, if at all, get beyond a few sweet words and a hug. No Legomance, I can promise you. 

Reviews are nice. And it doesn't get depressing or anything; Galadriel in this is about as sad as it gets. Poor me… (This is the Weeper speaking. I like angst.). The later chapters shall have 'Colfer-humor', so to speak, smart-humor, ironic-humor, but not stupid-humor (Such as Artemis Fowl appearing in a fluffy pink bathrobe right in the middle of the White Council *shudder*).****

There shall be villains, and, of course, they shall try and stop the good-guys. It doesn't make sense now considering that the fate of the Realms is dependant on them as well, but it shall later.

The way that the characters get between the different Realms varies from person-to-person. For example, Lyra Silvertongue from His Dark Materials might use the Subtle Knife (And yes, I know the problems with that. Bear with me.). The 'Golden Trio' from Harry Potter might use an Apparating spell, a portkey, or even the Vanishing Cabinet to get to Avallonë. No promises on if they're even going to use them.

There shall be a lot of characters. Not all of them shall be on the adventure-main. Otherwise, it would get way too crowded. 

I, the typer of this (Nallasariel the Weeper) have been banned from the computer for 2 weeks. Don't expect updates until that time is up (I barely snick enough time for this).

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper

& Mithostwen


	2. Introductions

Yes, last chapter was a bit confusing. However, this one shall be hopefully a bit less so, even is I'm introducing plenty of new characters. Again, you didn't need to have necessarily read all of these stories because I provide pretty decent introductions to each. Enjoy!

I have a few Author's Notes littered through this, just to give the readers that have read all or most of these stories a bit of a heads up for where these characters were taken form in relation to their story (For example, Artemis is taken right after the 1st book). 

Don't ask until Ch. 4 how Artemis got the e-mail. It's explained there. 

Don't worry, all our favorite Valinorians shall live. The Vingilotë features prominently next chapter, for example. 

**People who are reading my stories: You are probably all wondering why I'm not using this time I stole (I'm grounded—remember?) for stories I haven't updated in a while, like _Of Magic and Mayhem_, or _Enter the Shadow_. Well, I'm at my Uncle Peter's house for Easter, which means all my files are at MY house several hundred miles way. Most of them are half-finished, and since I'd rather not retype all of that I'm doing something that I had not started typing yet. That means this. Savvy? **

Oh, and I'm going to get to all our favorite villains and their minions in 5 chapters or so. I have to get all these guys all together and somewhat in a consensus over what to do before I can turn to Sauron, Morgoth, Voldemort, Wormtongue, etc. I'm not even that far in writing it with Mithostwen in out notebook right now, so you might want to be patient. However, we do (At least, _I_ do. I'm not to sure about Mithostwen.) have how the villains will act in reaction to the Council's scheme (Yes, all of these characters shall eventually agree on something.).

No synopsizes, I've decided, until a character makes second appearance. That'll be next chapter unless we drastically change it.

Chapter Two: Introductions

~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N: Time; right after the first Artemis Fowl book, perhaps 5 weeks or so. The time shall be a little more obvious when he meets with Holly & Co in two chapters or so (Or maybe next; we haven't decided). _

Artemis Fowl was not pleased.

Actually, it depends on which Artemis you were talking about; the First or the Second. The First was currently locked in a Russian Mafiya holding cell. The Second was gazing at the mysterious e-mail message on his lap-top. In that case, the unhappiness was simply in rather unequal amounts (Two guesses as to whom was more upset).

You see, Artemis Fowl (the Second) was not one to be bamboozled by anything whatsoever. He did, after all, swindle obscenely large mounts of money from everyone and everything that got in his way. Not only ad he broken the Mayan Code all by his lone self, but he had also successfully forged dozens of Impressionist paintings, played the violin at Carnegie Hall for an audience of well over a million (And receiving well over a million) and a good deal else that would require you to read his entire thirty gigabyte file at Interpol.

But, unfortunately, I am not here to give you a headache in explaining the sheer genius of Mr. Fowl. I am here to provide a rather important point; Artemis Fowl, for the first time in his spectacularly criminal life, was thoroughly confused. 

The expression of intense concentration furrowing his pale brow became one of utter disgust. Why on Earth was this so-called 'White Council' summoning _him_? He was an evil genius, not a private eye for hire. 

He checked the return address blinking annoyingly on the screen: theladygaladriel@hotmail.com. 

For a moment, he just considered the obscene message with cool blue eyes. Then, with a slight smile curving his thin lips, he typed up a response. 

_Dear Madame Agée,(_1)

_I have absolutely no regrets to announce that I do not wish to accompany you on this rather imbecilic mission. I have no interest whatsoever in joining a group of complete fools on an outlandish quest to save these so-called 'Realms'. Most of all, this mission has nothing in it for me except the vague idea that some people other then myself may actually get hurt. Granted, causing various forms of suffering can be enjoyable, but it is unseemly for one that expects to dominate the known world one day. I have a reputation to keep. _

Artemis paused, and then added;

_With no respect at all, _

_Artemis Fowl the Second_

He smiled his vampiric smile and pressed 'send' with no small amount of satisfaction. This 'White Council', if not fraudulent as he expected, would pay him a great deal for his services. Namely, a whole lot of gold.

"Aurum est Protestes." He whispered to himself, smoothing back his raven-black hair. "Gold is Power."

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N: Time; mid-_Subtle Knife_, right after Will received the Knife and are currently sleeping after their ordeal in the city. Will, anyways. For those who have not yet read the _His Dark Materials_ sequence, this is a different Will from tPotC. _

In another Realm, not so different from Artemis Fowl's, Lyra Silvertongue watched her alethiometer warily, 

The alethiometer, often called the 'Golden Compass', was a curious device. Around its golden rim were forty images in place of the cardinal points, completely random to those that did not understand the Compass.

Lyra silently watched the spinning needle, mentally filing away the images the needle stopped at. Jus as quickly as the pictures registered in her mind, her subconscious translated their meaning. She was the ony one who could read the alethiometer without the aid of the translation guide, and she took the fact that she had the one of only two of these artifacts to the fullest advantage. 

_A girl and a ship…I have to go somewhere on the sea…no, wait…a diamond…a boat with a diamond?...twenty rotations of the needle…I'm traveling in a group of twenty people…_

More images, too fast for her eyes to identify, flashed across the alethiometer barely changed by her subconscious.

_A man with a silver crown, a King—a woman with hair like gold and a sword out of its sheath—a boy with lightning on his forehead—a red-head following him—_

The pace of the images quickened to a fever-pitch, and they raged like a tsunami within her in the speed of their passing.

_A girl with brown hair and books—a boy with cold blue eyes, intelligent eyes—someone short, loyal, with furry feet—a man with pointy ears and a long bow—another man, short, grouchy, but with an ax—a woman—no, a girl still—forced to grow up too quickly with a panpipe and a blue book—a pirate with a compass that doesn't point north—a man with an anvil and a sword, many swords—a smaller man, a dwarf, a pickpocket—four people, two girls and two boys, united by a circle of thread with four bumps—another pointy-eared woman, short, but with a temper to match her hair—another woman, black-haired with nine bells, they are ringing…._

The alethiometer flew out of her hands, the needle still spinning madly, but came to a crash-landing on the carpet on the far side. Lyra did not notice the certain lack of sound form the crash, being too absorbed with the pounding headache thudding through her skull. 

The alethiometer was, granted, a useful device, but it gave her the most awful headaches. She had had it for so long, almost to the point where it had become an essential part of life. Whenever she was in need of advice, she 'asked' the alethiometer—although sometimes it told her things on its own. According to the professors at home, it worked through reading the dark particles through the air. None of this had ever made much sense to Lyra, although according to the alethiometer some things were about to be explained. 

When the pounding in her head had subsided—that was, after all, the most the alethiometer had ever offered her in one shot—she brushed back her straggly brown hair. A quick check of her senses revealed nothing out of the ordinary, other then a few tender lumps from the fight earlier. She suppressed a shudder; she was now as much a murderer as Will now.

"No." she whispered furiously to herself, pulling her thin and well-bruised knees closer to her body on the plush bed. The images had told her all too clearly that she was to go on a dangerous journey… without Will. Pantailamon was not in the strange message either, and she could not bear to be parted from her. 

Unwillingly, her glance strayed towards Will and her daemon—the reflection of her spirit—sleeping peacefully in the bunk opposite to hers. She had only known Will for a few hours, but already she felt that they were connected somehow, and Pantailamon…she could not bear to separate from. They were one, and what happened to one of them happened to the other. If they strayed too far from each other, they would weaken and die. 

Pantailamon, in the form of a lithe jaguar, yawned and blinked large golden eyes at Lyra. 

Lyra smiled slightly, and she beckoned to her daemon. She instinctually picked up the alethiometer gently in its mouth as she crossed the carpeted expanse, and was son besides her master.

The golden compass fell onto the pale bed, gold and silver light reflecting off it in lazy beauty from the moonlight that came from the window. It was a beautiful thing, but a deadly thing as well; had she never have come across it, many would not have died, and a whole war might have been averted…

Lyra picked it up from the small indent in the bed with trembling hands, drawn to it again by the strange magic it seemed to have. The needle turned around the center, bouncing silver moonbeams across the room's light blue walls, and then swung straight a Will, towards the Subtle Knife at his waist.

The Subtle Knife was no mere dagger—it could cut anything, everything, even the fabric of space. To save you a large headache that would rival Lyra's, it could cut doorways between the Realms. Will had sacrificed two fingers to bear the Subtle Knife, and he would never let it go willingly.

Her eyes closed as she tried desperately to think. There was another war she was called to, the one between Lord Asrial—her father—and between the Church. If she did what the alethiometer was demanding of her, not only would she have to loose her fingers, but she would be forced to abandon Will and her cause behind. 

"I'm only going to borrow it." She whispered to the Knife, trying to convince herself more then anything that he would not be forced to loose her fingers for the sake of bearing the artifact. Before she could change her mind and simply drag Will along, she crossed the room and slipped the Knife from Will's belt. It was heavy and cool in her hand, like silk spun from tempered steel.

Fascinated by the Knife, she let the light from the stars play across the silver blade, seeing more then just cold steel that killed. There was an iridescence to it, and as she looked closer, she could see worlds within waving green grass, a blue sky with dancing white birds, red blood and laughing people. It showed what it could unlock, and Lyra felt confidence bloom within her. It has not taken her fingers; it must have realized that she was only truly borrowing it.

"I'm going to return you." She whispered to the Subtle Knife in her hand, just in case. The blade only caught more light in her hands, shining gently with images of other worlds. 

Lyra turned to Pantailamon, still watching the upraised blade out of the corner of her eye. "Ready?" she murmured fearfully. The Subtle Knife was a cold thing, not at all like the golden friendliness of her alethiometer.

Pantailamon nodded, shifting to a small wildcat before her eyes. Lyra slid from Will's bed, bringing the Knife up to eye level. Unbidden, Will's words came to her, spoken quietly before he feel into his deep slumber. _You have to sort-of _feel _for the fabric, and you have t imagine the Knife cutting through something substantial other then air. It's an odd feeling, yes, but a pleasant one. _ 

She closed her eyes, and slashed the Knife down through the air. A tremor passed through her arm, and she curved the knife over and up, feeling the 'fabric' slice cleanly as the blade passed through it.

Nothing anywhere near Armageddon happened, and Lyra tentatively opened her eyes. Where she had cut there was a window, opening into an endless expanse of blue. 

"It's so beautiful." Lyra whispered, looking at the sparkling waters in amazement.  The larger bodies of water she had always seen had been restricted by buildings, polluted, uglified. But this….

"Pretty." Pantailamon said, quite aptly. It was like a giant pool of quicksilver, strewn across with iridescent diamonds. Shimmers of azure and turquoise blinded her gray eyes, making her squint against the reflected light.

The pair stood there for several long moments, watching the large window with apprehension and awe. It started around the height of Lyra's ankles and stretched to near the top of her unruly head. The light from the sea illuminated the small room, making Will twitch in his bed and shocking Lyra out of her reverie. She slid the alethiometer into her small backpack, and gripped the Knife tightly. With unspoken agreement Pantailamon morphed into a dolphin as she leapt through, a brief shadow in the window until she landed with a small _splash_ in the waters below.

Lyra took a deep breath. She had only wielded the knife once now, and she had to seal the window after her to make sure will did not follow. In one smooth motion honed from years of street-fighting, she jumped out through to the sea, twisting around to press the knife to the window-edge as she went. 

Will awoke with a start as he heard the distant splashed, but he dismissed them as the children playing in the waters of this sea. The window had closed, and Lyra had left no trace of her departure except for her missing lump in the bed—replaced by a cunning pillow. Will sighed to himself, and fell back into a troubled sleep, clutching the stumps of his missing fingers.

~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N: Not only is this section largely Mithostwen's with only small editations by me, but it takes place a few weeks after tPotC ended. Savvy? _

An entire world away, far closer to ours then Lyra's, someone else woke up at that very same moment. Like Will, his name was will. Like Artemis, he was named for his father. Like his father, Will was a pirate, thanks to a certain misadventure with Captain Jack Sparrow.

The fact that he was a pirate was also partly thanks to Elizabeth Swann, son to be Elizabeth Turner, as she had ironically told Barbossa after her voluntary kidnapping. It was a long story.

Will stood and stretched, his dark brown—not black, as many had assumed—falling annoyingly in front of his face. It was an incredibly simple way to start the day hat would change his life. Of course, he had no reason to believe that day was today.

The sun was rising in the east, highlighting the sky with rays of soft pink. Will wasn't in the mood to stare at the sky, however. He and Elizabeth were sailing to a nearby island to see if they would want to spend their honeymoon there. Neither of them was the least bit excited (He would have preferred to be making his now famous swords, or spending time with Elizabeth), but Elizabeth's father had insisted, and he _was_  the governor. Since Will should technically be in jail—or worse—he wasn't about to make the rather forgiving governor upset. He and Commodore Norrington had even spared Jack. Will owed them a lot, so he had agreed to this pointless voyage.

He made his way down to the Port Royal docks, brown eyes bright with the upcoming journey (It was better then a fine cell that he himself had built, or being employed as a warning sign to passing pirates). The governor was actually letting them—rather, forcing them—to take the _Dauntless_. Personally, Will would rather hunt down Jack Sparrow for more answers—and adventures, although he'd never admit that to Elizabeth—and travel on the Black Pearl, beat up as it was, then sail the ship of an old guy who tried to marry his fiancée. Fortunately for all parties, Norrington was busy and not coming along.

He smiled, and his pace quickened along the worn flagstones. Perhaps this little escapade wouldn't be as bad as he thought. 

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, the _Dauntless_ set sail to leave Port Royal. Elizabeth was worried, although she, of course, had pretended to be thrilled when faced with her father. Their destination, a small island known for their rum, was dangerously close to the haunted Isle de Muerta. Yes, the curse on the former crew of the _Black Pearl_ had been broken, but she never wanted to see that island again for rather obvious reasons. 

She spotted Will up at the prow of the boat and started to make her way past the swarm of red-coated soldiers. Even as one soldier accidentally bumped her, sending her coquettish hat flying into the air, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye, near where the hat had made an ungraceful landing. It was a little girl, clinging to a dolphin and looking extremely sorry for herself. 

"There's a girl in the water!" she cried to the soldiers. She almost added _and my hat!, _but such thoughts were brushed aside as she remembered something. That was almost exactly the same thing she had said eight years ago when she first saw Will. It was a spooky coincidence.

The men lowered the rope to the girl, and she gladly snatched it up with one wiry arm. They watched in astonishment as the dolphin morphed into a tiny bird and latched its small claws onto the girl's shirt. 

The soldiers almost dropped the rope.

"It's a possessed dolphin." Someone whispered, entirely serious to Elizabeth's disgust. It was a girl and her…thing…, were not demons! All thoughts of her hat forgotten, Elizabeth fumed at the stupidity of men. 

"Don't pull her aboard." The Captain ordered, although he hardly needed to to the thoroughly spooked men. "We don't know if she's dangerous. 

The girl looked up at them from the gently lapping water, her brown eyes wide with fear. 

"And why not?" Elizabeth demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

"She'll bring bad luck upon us, if not something worse. Didn't you see what just happened?"

Elizabeth looked down at the girl in the water. Her face was paling; hypothermia was coming. And yet the captain was right, in his own twisted way.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and the captain returned to his normal smug voice, although it had a slight quaver in it as he looked down at the girl.  "I thought so." He said, and shot her a superior look that made everyone in the vicinity (Minus the freezing girl) want to punch him in the face. He turned around, only to find Will standing right there and glaring at him.

The poor captain melted.

"Haul her aboard." Will ordered softly, glancing at the girl. "She was in my dream. We're supposed to pick her up."

The soldiers exchanged glances that told Will that they thought he was crazy, but they brought the now shivering girl out of the ocean anyways. Everyone, including the openly trembling captain, watched the little bird fearfully, but it just chirruped indignantly and preened its wet feathers.

"What's your name?" Elizabeth asked kindly, drawing attention away from the demon-bird. 

"Lyra Silvertongue." She said proudly, although everyone could see she was clearly afraid. She gave the soldiers a steely glare that nearly matched Will's, and then gazed at the named man. If he had been sent a dream about her, then maybe—

**BOOM**!

Cannon fire effectively interrupted her thoughts. The soldiers scrambled down to haul the Dauntless' guns as Lyra dived towards a cubby-hole under the stair to avoid the sudden hail of wood splinters and cannon-balls. The 'demon-bird' changed into a spotted dig and licked her hand reassuringly as Lyra tightened the grip on a very pretty knife. Will mentally noted that he would need to speak with her about who and what made it so beautiful, and then ran to grab his sword.

Elizabeth ran over to where Lyra had decided to hide, pulling her up by her arm. She eyed the long knife warily, but she ushered Lyra and the demon-dog towards the cabins where they'd be safer. She grabbed a sword—after the embarrassing incident at the Mansion a few weeks ago, she always kept a sword on hand—and ran back on deck. To her surprise, the men had stop preparing the cannons and were staring at something like her father's European statues ("The latest fashion in Paris, m'dear. Everyone is having statues commissioned.")

"It's the _Black __Pear_l." Will explained as a cluster of redcoats dodged another shot from the pirate ship. "Jack doesn't know it's us."

"And if we don't fire back…?" Elizabeth trailed off, already knowing the answer to her question. 

Will shook his head, slamming his sword into its sheath frustratingly. "They won't figure it out until it' too late." He whispered furiously.

"Well, what are we going to do?" 

Will was silent, his forehead wrinkled with consentration as he tried to think up another brilliant plan. 

After several long moments punctuated by cannon fire, Elizabeth asked, "Do we have a white flag?"

"We have a tablecloth."

Elizabeth might have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it had not several wood splinters imbedded themselves within her honey-brown hair. "Let's sail over there, then. I'm sure you can capture his attention with your big mouth."

Will ignored the barb, turning to go off without another word into his quarters, where the governor had decided to place an informal dining table. 

Elizabeth turned to see if she could attract Jack's attention without the help of the extremely ugly tablecloth, only to be nudged painfully in the ribs. She looked down—a long ways down—only to see Lyra, 

"Why aren't you in your cabin?" Elizabeth asked impatiently, eager to get back to planning.

Lyra gave her look of equal impatience, although Elizabeth could see her clutching the demon-dog's fur tightly. "One of the people on the other ship… Don't fire. He needs to come with us—"

"Yes, we know them all, actually, but I assume you mean Jack." Elizabeth glanced at Lyra, shocked at her knowledge. "But how did you know this?"

Lyra replaced the large silver knife with a golden compass from her pack, wiping off some of the briny sea-water that had encrusted on it. S

She was about to speak when Will ran up on deck, holding the horrendous table-cloth as if it were poisonous. "Another compass that doesn't point north." He observed, passing the flowered cloth to Elizabeth. 

Lyra smiled openly. She was now positive that she had come to the right place. The alethiometer had told her something about a pirate with a broken compass (Although she'd never admit that the alethiometer was broken). She would need to talk to this blacksmith later.

"The flag?" Elizabeth asked, holding up the white-and-pink cloth with obvious distaste. "I can't climb up the rigging, you know."

Will sighed wearily, and snatched the tablecloth out of her hands. With practiced ease, he climbed the rigging and replaced the now tattered British flag with the flowered white one of surrender—stains and all. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath. She hadn't had a good scream since childhood, and she needed all the 'talent' she had had in those days.

"**_PAAAAAAR-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!_**" she screamed, and all fell into silence. Lyra, knowing that look when someone was about to scream loudly, had clapped her ears with both her hands and Pantailamon's minx form. Others, being less prepared for anything like that, all had their ears ringing and various methods of fighting forgotten.

After the last echoes of the dramatic sound had faded away, there still was no sound. Either Jack had recognized her voice, even if it was amplified a thousand times more then what he was used to, or she was the only one who asked for parley every time she met a pirate.

"Aye1; he called out, appearing over the rim of the Dauntless as he clambered aboard via a gang-plank. His black hair, still as greasy and poorly-decorated as first time they saw him,  bounced merrily as he walked on over as if he own ed the boat )which, by the rules of engagement, he did). He grinned  as if he hadn't been trying to blow holes in their ship for the past fifteen minutes, and regarded Elizabeth and Will curiously. 

"You change your mind?" he asked Elizabeth, squinting at her hand. "I don't see a ring." Will, suffice to say, did not look pleased at this remark, fidgeting awkwardly. 

Elizabeth glared at him, moving closer to Will. "No, I didn't a-matter-of-fact."

Lyra interrupted before it could become yet another duel between the two men. "Mr. Sparrow and you two," he pointed at the three adults, who looked royally astonished that a little girl half their size was addressing them such. "You need to come with me to another Realm. A powerful Elf lady needs us, or something terrible will happen to everyone."

There was an awkward silence, in which the crew of the _Dauntless_ decided it would be wise to leave the foursome on the deck and the three remaining adults started at her blankly. 

"Can you repeat that luv?" Jack asked, staring down at her with utter bewilderment. 

Lyra did, enunciating each syllable as if it were her last. 

Will glanced over at Elizabeth, who glanced right back. "Sounds fine to me?" he suggested anxiously. 

Elizabeth laughed, tossing back her hair so they could all see the adventure gleaming in her eyes. "I think I have another one in me!"

All three of them turned to look at Jack, who was shaking his head fervently.

'Why not?" persisted Will, who was looking genuinely excited. 

Jack snorted in disbelief. "I happen to have a fine ship and a crew that loves me."

Elizabeth looked about ready to laugh at this, and Jack threw his arms in the air. "Fine. I'll argue with someone else. You there,' he grabbed Lyra's arm, and proceeded to drag her off towards the _Pearl_. "You seem to know what's going on. You explain this al to me, and then I can say no properly.'

"Jack…" Will said angrily, clutching his sword. "I'm warning you…"

Jack looked back from the gangplank, oblivious to the fact Lyra was better balanced on it then him. "You don't trust a pirate's honor?' he asked incredoulesly, looking hurt. "You don't trust me, after all we've been through?"

Will smiled despite himself. "Of course not Jack. Could you expect anything less?"

But his words met empty air; Jack and Lyra had already crossed over to the _Black __Pearl__. _

"But can we trust him?" Elizabeth asked Will in a low voice. "You know how Jack is, and she's so naïve."

Will smiled slightly, hugging Elizabeth. "If we couldn't trust him, we wouldn't be standing here today."

The same smile tugged at Elizabeth's lips as the memories washed over her. "True enough." she whispered, and they stood together on the deck, waiting for the outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


_A/N: Here to the end is all the Weeper. This segment is from Garth Nix's 'Abhorson' universe, and is Sabriel a bit after marrying Touchstone during some miscellaneous excursion into Death.. _

Sabriel cursed under her breath as she tripped, but managed to avoid falling headlong into the cold gray water. A few tendrils of jet-black hair were plastered onto her pale white ace, and the rest waved behind her as she sprinted through the still air.

Saying that she wasn't pleased now, as Artemis Fowl had been, would be a major understatement; the Dead were after her.

The Dead were literally dead—except they weren't. The undead you could almost say. They were the spirits of the living that refused to pass through the Nine Gates of Death. Choosing instead to haunt both the realm of Death and that of the living, they forever lusted for life, which they could never fully attain again. Many were once good souls, once good people that were twisted by this cruel thirst for life, brought to slaying innocents in blood they drank so sweetly. 

It was these Sabriel combated, for she was the Abhorson, wielder of the nine bells. Most who glanced at her would at first see a necromancer—someone to be feared, for they controlled the Dead for their own ambitious purposes. 

At the moment, Sabriel happened to be hunted by one of the nastier necromancers—once her prey. She was running madly through the still waters of the Third Gate, trying to outrun both the necromancer behind her and the incoming wave. 

Each of the Gates had its own perils, some far worse then others. This was easily the one she hated the most, because of the great waves that swept through every few minutes to fling everything, even the living, through the next gate. They were stunned by the wave, unable to fight the river's current as it carried them to the Ninth Gate and beyond. 

Breathlessly, she pulled a mark of speed from the charter, and let it flow through her exhausted limbs. Behind her was the growing roar as the wave approached, and out of the corner of one brown eye she could see the faint red glow of the necromancer. Grimacing again, she ran even faster through the shallow gray water. 

There was a muffled howl of rage as the wave captured the necromancer, tossing him carelessly within the roiling waters and extinguishing the fires in his eyes. A few droplets of water from the wave landed on the nape of her neck, but it was unable to stir any more speed from her. She was running as fast as she could, and the Fourth Gate was still a long ways away.

With a final roaring heave, the wave sucked her into it gray water, numbing her limbs instantly.

_Let yourself go_. Sabriel told herself. _It is your time_. Yet, it somehow felt wrong. There was still much of her life ahead, there was Touchstone, his broken kingdom… and there was no Abhorson to take her place. Without the Abhorson, the Dead would overrun the Old Kingdom before some righteous necromancer would take the role.

She began to struggle in the numbing grip of the water, trying to break free of the spell it had put her under. The wave only tossed her more furiously, higher, lower, through the iciness…

Suddenly the wave stopped, sending her hurtling through the Fourth Gate of Death, and what lay beyond. 

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N: tPotC again. We're going to be spending a lot of time here. Oh, and Lirael (Garth Nix books) is from after she becomes a Remembrancer. Obviously, Sabriel and Lirael come from different timeframes within the same Realm. _

"I still don't believe it, luv." Jack said, rummaging around through his messy drawers to find some of the rum he had pulled recently. He honestly felt like he deserved it; the demon-bird had already tried to strangle him as a giant snake after he had called her 'luv' once, although now he kept 'luv' and her birdie on the far side of the room.

The girl scowled fiercely, crossing her arms across her chest. "You had better believe it." She replied crossly, giving one of the many hats littering the floor of the Captain's Quarter's a hard kick. 

"Not the hat!" Jack cried, crossing the filthy room in two swift steps and rescuing the battered hats from Lyra's vengeful feet.

When he got up again from the floor, Lyra jabbed her finger into his chest, pushing him back a few steps. "_You_, whether you like it or not, are coming with us!"

Jack snorted in disbelief, backing away from Lyra and the now hissing Pantailamon. "You and what army?"

Lyra smirked noticeably, and Pantailamon hissed again as an overly large python. "I don't need an army, Jack."

"Captain Jack Sparrow!" he muttered angrily, but stopped when Pantailamon lunged out to coil around his arm. He leapt back, barely missing his sloppy table in the stumble, but drew his sword when he recovered his balance. "This is my ship, and you," he waved the sword towards Lyra's unmoving head, "are an intruder."

Lyra's eyes narrowed at the blade a foot and a half above her, but in one deft jump snagged the point by the lat of the blade and pulled down hard.

Jack dropped the sword, relinquishing his death-rip as the sword twanged angrily. Openly swearing—and thus adding new words to Lyra's vocabulary—he reached for the pistol at his waist.

But it wasn't there. He had thrown it away upon Barbossa's death because its task as fulfilled. He had forgotten to get a new one anyways, if more from his bad memory then a lack of need. 

It would not have mattered, in any case; both were unduly started when two muffled thumps accompanied by two strings of very loud curses came from the deck of the _Pearl_. Both stopped their fight in unspoken agreement as they rushed out the broken door to the deck.

There, on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, were three sodden lumps. Two had long black hair, faces pale from what Jack hoped wasn't anger, and a set of nine things. For the taller and older of the two it was bells, clappered to remain quiet, and for the heaving girl it was a small set of panpipes. The third was a drenched and unhappy looking black mongrel, which got up and liked the smaller of the two women on the cheek. She groaned, and looked up at the now grinning dog with a mixture of annoyance and friendliness. 

The taller of the women had already leapt to her feet, a long sword covered with strange marks already out of its sheath. A surcoat of deep blue with a dusting of silver keys rippled slightly in the sea-wind, but it did not distract her from the furious face before her.

"WHAT are you DOING on my SHIP?!" Jack roared, snatching a sword from one of his gaping men. 

In two seconds the blade was already spinning into the stairwell by the heard-eyed woman, and her sword pointed sharply at his throat. Jack gulped, looking down at the imminent threat, but Lyra only backed up with a smug smile on her face. At this rate, she might be able to return the Subtle Knife before day's end.

Will and Elizabeth came running from the very same stairwell, alerted by the sound of the crashing sword. They had gone down to meet with all their old 'buddies' again, but the fates seemed set on not allowing Will to get into any more fights. Elizabeth, stepping in front of the de-sworded Will, clutched the hem of her too-long dress in one hand, and a somewhat bent saber in the other. 

The smaller of the two black-haired women got up unsteadily with the help of the grinning dog, staring around her in astonishment, and finally at the swordswomen glaring at Jack.

"Sabriel." She breathed, and got down in one knee, inclining her head respectfully.

Sabriel looked down at the kneeling girl with surprise, and everyone who was paying any attention whatsoever to the unfolding drama noted that the two women's faces were extremely similar. 

Jack lunged forward, dodging around the outstretched blade at his throat and snatched at the hilt of Sabriel's sword. Her dark brown eyes widened in shock, but then she sidestepped his headlong rush. Jack, unable to stop himself, kept on running until he flipped over the side of the _Pearl_. 

The entire crew, including the new arrivals, exchanged amused glances and burst out in laughter. Splashes rang out in the calm Caribbean air, mixing with Jack's muffled oaths as he struggled to get back on board. 

When Elizabeth took advantage of this to step forward and greet the women, Sabriel bared her teeth. "Where am I?" she spat, letting the long sword trace idle patterns in the air. 

Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder towards Will ad Lyra, both of whom seemed more interested in the women then mocking Jack as the rest of the crew were. Will shrugged, and looked at Lyra, who seemed to be the only one who had a clue as to what was going on. 

Lyra closed her eyes, looking down at the golden compass in her hands. After several long moments, she answered cryptically, "Not Death. Nor is it your life. It is a different reality then the one you are used to."

To everyone's surprise, both Sabriel and the other women seemed to accept this. Swords on all parties were sheathed, and they regarded each other in wary silence. 

"Where's the kitchen?" asked a voice from nowhere. Everyone's heads turned, looking for the source of the noise, but the smaller if the women smiled at the dog. 

"Don't be asking that already, Dog." She scolded the mongrel, but they could tell she didn't mean it.

'Dog' smiled openly, exposing large canine teeth. "Lirael, one could always use more food."

Several of the crewmembers turned as pale as Sabriel when they saw the Dog talking. However, nothing seemed too surprising after a haunted island, a spooky ship, zombie-pirates, Aztec gods placing curses on people, a morphing dolphin, and women that fell from the sky. So unlike the crew of the _Dauntless_…

Jack emerged dripping wet from the _Pearl__'s_ side, his dark curly dreadlock plastered to his face in a most undignified manner. The remaining laughter from his crew choked off when they saw the pure rage on Jack's face. When the Captain was angry, he was either

A) Drunk, or

B) On vendetta.

In this case, he was a combination of the two; very dangerous indeed. His entire crew backed away from Jack's warpath as he made his way over towards Sabriel. 

Jack stopped a hands-width from Sabriel's calm face, his face dark with unconcealed fury. Both stood silent for a few moments, and then Jack characteristically exploded. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?" he roared, throwing his hands into the air. "THIS IS MY SHIP, _MY_ SHIP!"

Lirael at her side laughed silently, but stopped herself and returned to her calm façade. "That is the Queen of the Old Kingdom and Abhorson, Sir Jack Sparrow. She does what she will."

Sabriel looked over at Lirael in confusion. "Queen? I have not been crowned yet. I have only been married to Touchstone for a few weeks now."

Lyra walked up to the dumbfounded adults, clutching the alethiometer to her chest. "I think—" she started, but the rest of her words were lost amongst the tumult of mixed curses and insults that Jack threw at Sabriel. 

"Stop it!" cried Elizabeth, putting her hands on Lyra's shoulders. Lyra tried to tug away from Elizabeth's grip, but she held on tightly. She looked at the trapped Lyra kindly. "Go on." 

Lyra finally freed herself from Elizabeth's grasp,  and firmly pushed Sabriel and Jack apart. "I think the problem here—" she looked from Sabriel to Lirael, who looked at each other with open suspicion and curiosity. "—is that you come from different time frames in the same Realm."

Sabriel and Lirael eyed each other suspiciously, but seemed to swallow this explanation as well. Lyra continued. "The alethiometer tells me we have to hurry."

Jack cut after swallowing a few gulps of rum, taken from the First Mate's quarters. "I'm not going anywhere." He stated, reaching for the bottle he had liberated again.

 "Yes you are!" Elizabeth said crossly, snatching the bottle of rum before Jack could swig it down. 

Jack glared at Elizabeth, Lyra, Sabriel, and then Lirael (Who had done nothing to him whatsoever). "D***ed women." He muttered under his breath, and then brought up his hands instinctually to protect against an unwanted slap.

Vengeance came, but not in the usual form. Lyra clenched her fists, and drove them in hard at Jack's midsection. He, however, remained unaffected by the attack, instead looking down at Lyra with obvious annoyance. 

'That's all you can do luv?" he asked, smiling slightly.

Lyra scowled. "No, I still have Pantailamon." The daemon hissed in her python form, making Jack recoil from her.

"I hate snakes." He muttered, and put some more distance in between him and the women. 

Will joined Elizabeth, putting his arm around her waist (Much to Lyra's disgust.) "I don't know about you, but life in Port Royal is getting dull. Another adventure is just the thing I need." He looked over at Elizabeth, correcting himself automatically. "What _we_ need."

Elizabeth nodded, much to Jack's disappointment. "As long as there aren't any curses involved."

Lyra grinned. "No promises."

Sabriel and Lirael glanced at one another, and then at the grinning Dog between them. The Dog spoke first. "Well, I'll go. Ad far as I'm concerned, it's better then sitting in Lirael's office al day reading spellbooks."

Lirael frowned at the Dog. "We have things to do back at the Library."

"So?" the Dog replied, wagging her tail energetically. "This is more interesting then a bunch of old books!"

Lirael opened her mouth to argue, but firmly shut it again when she saw the Dog's questioning look. However much she could deny it, the Dog was right on this one. 

Lyra turned towards Sabriel, who was regarding Lirael thoughtfully now. "And you?"

Sabriel as silent for several long minutes, looking between Lirael and Lyra. "The Charter brought me here for a purpose." She said at long last. "And I shall see it to the end." She bowed before Lyra, laying the long sword at her feet.

Lyra blushed uncertainly, and looked over at Jack. "What about you?"

Jack turned and began swaggering back to his messy cabin. "I have better things to do then this."

"Like what?" Will demanded. 

Jack snorted, and began to tick off the reasons on his fingers. "Drink rum, eat, sleep, count me gold, ah…" he trailed off, and looked at Lyra's triumphant face. "D***." He muttered.

Lyra flounced over to a clear spot on the deck, sliding the Subtle Knife along old seams. It opened quicker this time, and soon a fair city of gleaming white house and gray ship slung before them, shining against the backdrop of an even more splendid sea.

Sabriel walked through without hesitation once she retrieved her sword, followed closely by Lirael and the Dog. Will and Elizabeth went after hand-in-hand, leaving only Jack, his frightened and thoroughly confused crew, and Lyra.

Jack sighed, and looked at the _Black Pearl_ fondly. "Do I have to leave her?" he asked the girl, rubbing his hands down a carved ebony rail.

Lyra's face puckered as she though about it. "I don't know," she said after a while. "You can't bring the crew, but in the alethiometer you were shown with your boat."

Jack looked round at his crew. "I won't miss them." He said, eliciting gasps of astonishment from the pirates.

The girl raised a fine eyebrow speculatively. "Can you do that then?" she asked sealing off the window.

Jack grinned, and then in on swift motion spun the steering wheel, the very same trick he had pulled on Will only two and some weeks ago. The boom of the mast fell outwards, slamming into the crew and weeping them into the sparkling cerulean water. 

Lyra smiled. "I like your methods."

Jack made a mock bow. "I try, luv. And now can you get the _Pearl_ out of here before I could mutinied twice?"

She made no reply, but instead moved to the front of the boat until she leaned in front of the figurehead. Bringing the Subtle Knife high into the air, she cut as large a hole she could in front of the figurehead. Quickly then, she backed up from her new window. 

An extraordinary thing happened. The hole she made, only the size of a small blackboard, stretched and expanded to fit the rest of the ship as it glided through the waters, crossing into a sea of a deeper but no less beautiful blue.

Lyra ran to the far end of the boar to try and seal the hole, but miraculously it had shrunk as the ship tapered out and sealed itself, leaving nothing behind as the Pearl sailed towards the port and the impatiently waiting people in the water below. 

She breathed in the air, feeling the sheer cleanliness of it refresh her as if coming from a long sleep. Surely this was the home of everyone, here in Valinor?

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(1) Means, in French, 'old madame'. Obviously he's insulting the Lady Galadriel.

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That chapter was very confusing I realize, but hopefully entertaining. I just spent 5 hours typing that, so I hope you're happy.

Anyways, that's how long the chapters are going to b from here on out. It's not going to be the same for all of mine or Mithostwen's fics, just this one. 

Yes, yes, I know that the whole deal with Lyra not bringing Will and taking the Knife, with canon characters being interrupted and all in mid-adventure is very odd. Believe it or not, I have figured out a very logical ad surprisingly simple reason for it which shall be explained once I finally get to the White Council chapter in about a million years. Galadriel is practically all-knowing in this, and has answers for everyone. Almost everyone, that is… muhahaha. 

Next chapter shall be more introductions to many more Realms, visiting a few old ones, and shall be up in two weeks or so. 

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper

& Mithostwen

P.S. If you want to check out some of Mithostwen's stuff (Although I don't know if she's posted any of her awesome stories yet), she's on my favorites list. Say hi for me!

P.P.S. This is a strange keyboard for me, so sorry for the abundant typos and such. I'll fx it when I can type freely once more.


	3. Calamities and Lyres

A/N: Sorry about the long silence. We caught a nasty virus on the family computer that literally destroyed the operating system and most of my files, which took a long time to deal with. I'm going to try and make up for that now.

For those that read _Birds of a Feather_ and wanted me to continue with it, I might do that particular pairing in this. It all depends on, yet again, if it could possibly fit in with the plot and if Mithostwen doesn't disagree with it violently. We don't want a lot of romance in it, and there'll be three at the max, one at the minimum (There's one that shall be done mostly for humor, and will obviously be split up at the end. Don't pester me about it unless you're one of those people who pester me anyways on a regular basis).

Oh, and when Mithostwen and I were writing this chapter, we realized we weren't going to be able to fit in the Vingilotë until next chapter. This entire one instead deals with various _Artemis Fowl_ characters. Individual notes on the beginning of each section. Enjoy.

Chapter Two: Calamities and Lyres

_A/N: Holly and the others are taken from a bit after the first _Artemis Fowl_ book. Written by Nallasariel the Weeper._

"D'arvit." Holly breathed fervently, tucking her slight elfin frame into a tight ball as she rolled across the ground.

An electric shock ran up her arm as she said that, but she stopped herself from another vulgar curse. The shock was a warning to cut the language, and to hurry. She had little time to dawdle.

She gritted her teeth as she stood up from the tumble, drawing the Neutrino 2000 from its holster with practiced ease. The frictionless green surface of her LEP jumpsuit helped her slide behind the next bunker. Lasers, like a multitude of supersonic bees, hummed around her with dangerous intent as they sped from the far wall of the training arena.

Holly paused, slicking back what little of her sweat-soaked auburn hair was left in her buzz-cut, trying to catch her breath. When she had composed her angular elfin features, she ran out into the open once more.

The lasers started anew as her silhouette became apparent to the targeting systems. Reflexively she pulled the trigger of her Neutrino, and was rewarded with annoyingly high _beep_s as the red targets were hit.

"TIME!" a voice roared, and Holly sagged against the bulwark in relief. It was one of Commander Root's favorite drills to send his officers on; especially ones he wanted to make an example of.

In this case, his victim was Captain Holly Short.

Ever since the disastrous Artemis Fowl affair in which he had managed to hold her for ransom—and succeed—she had been in the spotlight even more then she already had for being the first female LEPrecon officer. There could be no mistakes for her, or even Root himself would not be able to stop the Council from firing her.

A soft _clip-clop_ behind her announced the arrival of Foaly, the LEP's pet civilian. He was, as he was so fond of saying, a genius and a centaur to boot. His inventions were quite possibly the only thing keeping the Fairy People technologically ahead of the Mud Men.

Her lip curled in disdain as she holstered the Neutrino. Those humans, as they called themselves, had chased them into hiding deep underground. Now they believed them nonexistent, only fairy tales to be told by the bedside. Judging by the bustling city of Haven right outside these very walls, they were very, very wrong.

"Well done." Foaly said, straightening the foil bonnet on his brown head. He, despite the large head (Literally, figuratively and metaphorically), thought that humans were attempting to probe his mind and that the _Reynold's__ Wrap_ hat would somehow protect himself against such fantastical threats. However, it wasn't very often he passed out compliments, which Holly accepted with a slight nod. Now, if she could only get by to the lockers—she had the entire female section of the changing rooms to herself—and escape a lecture…

"HOLLY!:" Commander Root roared, stalking into the large training room with all the fury that Foaly had without his carrots. His face was red, the deep, cherry red that had earned him the nickname _Beetroot_, and the slightly bulging eyes only confirmed the anger radiating from the elf.

Holly clenched her slender fingers around her buzz baton, wishing not for the first time that she could give Root a good zap. Frond knows how many times he got _her_ for language…

Somehow she managed to resist the overwhelming urge, and composed her mind. "Yes Commander/" she asked cordially, brushing back her auburn hair again. For a moment she considered getting another haircut during break—it was a requirement as well as a convenience for LEP officers to have sensible buzz cuts—but was wiped away as Root snatched her shoulder firmly and led her away.

"YOU are coming with ME." He said sternly, turning the corner towards Operations Booth in the broad plaza.

Holly sighed inwardly, and let herself be led. Foaly cantered behind, and by the very verbal squelching sounds was currently entertaining a carrot. _Foaly__ was probably the one who_ _told_ _Root to get me. _She thought sourly, contemplating her growling stomach. And she had wanted to get something to eat afterwards. Perhaps Foaly would consent to share a few of his carrots…

_Nope_. Holly thought as the door of the Ops Booth sealed behind her with a pneumatic hiss. _He likes his carrots too much. What could I do to get his carrots?_

Before she could continue with this disturbing line of thought, Root let go of her now rather sore shoulder. She turned around in the cramped booth, wishing to address Foaly on the matter of respecting those who had foolishly skipped breakfast to help their diet along, but he seemed to absorbed with the blinking buttons to notice.

"Foaly…" Root growled, tapping the centaur on the shoulder. He was in an unusually bad mood today; usually, he respected the genius that held the entire Fairy race in his nimble fingers.

The centaur shot him an irritated look, pressing more of the lighted buttons with quick fingers. "What, Julius?"

Tomato darkened to Blackberry, and a vein pulsed on Root's forehead. Holly winced, and covered her delicately pointed ears from the upcoming blast.

"DON'T—CALL—ME—JULIUS!" Root roared, pounding his fist down on the control panels.

Big mistake. The power went out in Ops Booth, leaving them in complete and total darkness.

The first sound that came to the trapped trio was the _clip-clop_ of hooves as Foaly made his way calmly across the Booth, pushing Holly and the enraged Root out of the way.

Root took several deep, calming breaths that probably did nothing to help his skin hue or his current temperament. "What just happened?" he seethed in the darkness, and Holly could feel him brush past her towards where Foaly had gone.

"You knocked the lock-down procedure on. By pure chance you somehow managed to press the code that triggered it." Foaly said calmly, and added with a sigh, "It's such a pain being a genius."

Holly grinned, feeling in the darkness for Root and Foaly. "I hear you."

The air in Ops heated up several degrees.

"That's not funny, _Captain_, and don't touch that."

Holly retracted her searching hands hurriedly, fearing what it was that she _had_ touched. "Yessir, won't do it again sir." It was never good to anger the Commander any more then was necessary. That was Foaly's job.

The centaur must have done something, for the fluorescent lights flickered back on. Holly saw with no small amount of alarm that she was three inches from Root's crimson face and very close to stepping on Foaly, who had apparently crawled beneath one of the work-tables to fool around with the wires. She backed up quickly, fearing both reactions.

Much to her relief, the Commander turned to look at the grinning Foaly, who was now picking himself up from the spotless floor. "Well _civilian_? What just happened?"

Foaly sniffed indignantly, straightening the foil bonnet again for aesthetics' sake. "I've already explained it, but apparently your discombobulated cranium already encompassed its daily allocation of acumen."

Before Root could die of a possible heart attack, Holly cut in to redeem herself. "Why did you call me down here? New mission?" She asked that last part hopefully; so far, she had only been attached to boring surveillance missions in shut-down shuttle ports. Perhaps the Council had changed its mind about the Artemis Fowl affairs…

"Us." Root replied absently, his anger dissipating like goblins before a LEP raid as he lit one of his notorious fungus cigars. "He called us down."

Foaly frowned. "Put that fire out, Julius. You know the computers don't like it."

Root grimaced in return, and his face returned to the hue of his normality as he smashed the fuming butt of the cigar into Foaly's dashboard. "Back to the point. And I'm not here for another lecture as to why your department needs more money."

"Well, I would _like_ to find out about that .1 percent discrepancy in flare prediction…"

The centaur went cross-eyed when Root jabbed his finger into the bridge of his nose. "Hurry up. Or that 'project' on Mud-Men entertainment systems goes down the drain."

Holly grinned again, greatly enjoying this miniature war between her superiors. Foaly was somewhat infamous for his obsession with Mud-Men T.V., and the project—code-named 'Rumplestilsken'—was only Foaly's excuse for watching _Passions_ and _One Night to Live_. Getting rid of that would be more then just a serious annoyance to the frivolous centaur.

Foaly scowled at the Commander, and pressed more of the buttons in rapid succession. It was a hit. "I called you all down here on an important message from the Council. Apparently, they want to get Artemis Fowl down here—and on the double."

"And why do they need us to do it?" Root demanded angrily. His cigar was now only a small pile of green mush on one of the few clear spots on the dashboard, and was getting even more disgusting-looking by the second as Root ground it up with the ball of his thumb.

Foaly took a deep breath. "Vinyaya told me to call in a personal favor with you to take on Fowl again. You know how the little sweartoad is anyways. He can only have the best."

Holly and Root were openly sweating now. Last time they took on Artemis Fowl—that time with the full force of the LEP at their backs—Holly was taken captive, the kleptomaniac Mulch Diggums had died, the only troll ever to be taken alive had been crippled, a large portion had been taken from the LEP's ransom fund, and Cudgeon had lost his pretty face and _Commander_ ranking. No one except him mourned that last one.

Holly was the first to respond. "No!" she half-shouted, backing up against the steel wall of the tiny booth. "I refuse to go after Fowl again!"

Root had a similar, albeit louder, reaction. "Vinyaya?! VINYAYA?! She owes ME a personal favor!"

Foaly couldn't resist. "A date, you mean?"

Root's already crimson complexion deepened several shades until it was comparable to a first degree burn. "No, she owes me a favor for taking over the Bigfoot incident in California!"

Holly grimaced. She remembered the incident almost as bitterly as the Artemis Fowl affair, and had no joy in remembering it whatsoever. Saskwatch would never be the same, and she owed Root yet another favor for covering for her after Bigfoot's rampage took a turn for the worse. They just keep adding up…

"Fine." The Commander grumbled, making Foaly's grin widen even more. "I'll go, but only because Vinyaya asked me to." With that, he turned to leave—only to crash into the still closed steel door.

He spun around to glare at Foaly and Holly, both of whom were both barely smothering laughter. "Open it, _civilian_, before I do cut Rumplestilskin and a few things besides."

Foaly nickered laughingly at the rising bruise on Root's temple. "Yes, of course Julius. And I'll be sure to pass your regards along to Vinyaya."

The last thing Holly heard from the Commander was 'DON'T CALL ME JULIUS!' before the door hissed shut in front of the indigo Root and effectively cutting off whatever other amusing remarks he had to say on the subject of his ego.

Holly hesitated too long before making her escape: Foaly beckoned to her from his queer quadrapedal chair with a smile she did not like. "I have another use for you…"

She groaned, wishing centaurs were not so slow in their calculations. It would be a long time before she would get to wring Artemis' scrawny little neck.

_A/N: Same deal. Written by the Weeper, same location, same time. Notes later so I won't give away the plot._

She kept on thinking that; it took nearly eight hours for the centaur to prepare for their mission. Unfortunately for her, she was _with_ Foaly as he rummaged around in various corners of the Ops Booth, her advice in suddenly high demand as he picked through what to bring and how they would invade Fowl Manor secretively as possible. This she didn't mind; it was carrying obscenely heavy objects out towards the shuttle-bay doors she didn't like, even if they were located inside the LEP complex. Not only that, but Foaly insisted on punctuating his relatively logical conversation with annoying remarks that made Holly want to hit him, although she couldn't due to the large packages she was carrying.

"Shut. Up." Holly said through gritted teeth, and then groaned as the centaur stacked another small but very dense package onto her shoulders. Why Foaly had insisted on using her as a little porter instead of the robotic trolley-things was beyond her, since they had a considerably smaller chance of dropping his precious cargo. Sadistic centaur.

Foaly grinned, and dropped another package onto her already staggering load from his own. "Tsk tsk, Captain. Never order your superior around."

It was Holly's turn to smile as she took another stumbling step towards the door. "Technically, you're a _civilian_, not an officer."

Foaly's grin did not waver as he pressed the opening code for the door. "But I can topple the entire government at a moment's whim. You, quite obviously, cannot."

She scowled at the centaur, and stepped through the door. "But I have a Neutrino 2000. _I_ can blast you at a 'moment's whim' and you, 'quite obviously', can't even _lift_ a Neutrino 2000.

"And I have objects on my person that I can put on your load and make you collapse before you draw your gun."

"And I can dump this entire load on you." Although she was sorely tempted, she wouldn't dare touch Foaly. Who knew what gizmos he used to protect himself?

The unlikely pair made were silent for several long minutes, each trudging through the long chrome hallway that led to the pile of gear Holly had stacked there and the final doors to the shuttle bay with only Holly's gasping breaths for sound. At least until they came to the doors.

"Say something!" Holly gasped, bending over slightly to adjust the weight of the packages. Doors to such important places required a voice identification.

Foaly glared at her. "I'm not registered."

"WHAT?!" Holly cried, standing straight up suddenly. One of the boxes slid from the carefully balanced pile in her arms, making Foaly dive ungracefully for it.

He barely managed, although it took him several seconds for him to regain his proper footing on the smooth, glass-like steel floor. After replacing his battered foil hat, he glared at Holly again. "No, I am _not_ registered with the voice-print identification system because, as you so bluntly pointed out, I am a civilian. Ops Booth is apparently the limit for how much power one centaur can have for the Council. You'll have to do it."

"Me?" Holly gasped. "I can barely even argue with you, let alone speak clearly enough for VICKI." VICKI was the nickname most of the LEP gave the frustrating identification system, standing for Voice Identification for Cudgeon's Kronies Incorporated. Not only was the person who invented that a bad speller, but a Cudgeon-hater as well. Cudgeon was notorious for making silly little rules like that, some geared purely to annoy Fairies like Foaly or Holly. Everyone suspected Root for VICKI's naming, since it came about after Cudgeon convinced the Council to ban smoking in LEP complexes. 

Foaly shrugged, cradling his lone package like a mother would for a beloved baby. "Not my fault."

Holly groaned, and tried to catch her breath. After several long moments she said to the door, "Foaly is a moron."

The little light on the door shone red; Holly's voice wasn't recognizable, probably due to the sarcasm dripping from it like too much honey.

She tried again, this time enunciating each syllable clearly. "Artemis Fowl has no sense of morals."—a lie, although she did not know it.

Unfortunately, so did VICKI, who blinked a smug red that was nearly as annoying as Lili's endless prattling.

"Try calling me a genius." Foaly suggested mildly, shifting the box so it rested in the crook of his arm. "It'll accept the truth."

Holly glared, and had she been the live wire her hair suggested she would have punched him. However, since Foaly was _always_ right, she said angrily, "Foaly is a genius."

VICKI was red.

"Don't. Even. Say. It." Foaly warned her, and Holly barely restrained her laughter.

Holly recovered her breath, and tried again, pulling something from her Mud-Men studies class. "Open… barely?"

The light flashed green, and the door opened smoothly. Foaly, who had been leaning on it, tumbled into the shuttle bay and landed flat on his big derrière. (1)

Sending his precious package sailing through the air.

"Catch it!" Foaly whinnied from the floor, stumbling against one stony wall. "Catch it if you value your life!"

"Can't!" Holly gasped, once more staggering beneath the weight of her packages as stumbled forward. "Too much stuff!"

Fortunately for her, Root, who had just conveniently walked into the package's path from the open shuttle doors, did not bother to look up as it plummeted down to hit him squarely on the already bruised forehead.

"D'ARVIT!" Root roared, tossing the package to the ground and clutching his twice-smacked forehead with scarlet rage.

"Watch your language, Julius." Foaly said, limping slightly as he trotted over towards the shuttle. They were the only ones in the spacious cavern, and the tear-drop-shaped shuttle was ready to launch out into the magma vent.

The transportations system was brilliant, devised, of course, by one of Foaly's ancestors. The interior of the Earth needed to release pressure ever once and a while, and this was relieved by blasting superheated magma and air up through these tubes. What they did to harness this power was to ride these like an eagle might ride a thermal, or a surfer a wave, getting a free 'hot shot' up to the surface. (2)

One of Foaly's many inventions helped to predict the occurrence of these flares in tunnels. It was 100% accurate. Almost.

Root, running each of the lumps on his forehead, gave the package on the floor a derisive kick. Foaly glared at him, and picked up the box before Root could add another dent to its smooth silver surface.

"Can someone help?" Holly panted, nearly collapsing for the hundredth time.

Root grumbled incoherently, and lifted a few of the heavier packages from Holly's huge load. She sighed in relief, and shifted the packages again to better balance the weight.

"Place them into the cargo-hold of the shuttle CAREFULLY!" Foaly said imperiously, still cradling his lone box as he stepped awkwardly into the shuttle.

Root scowled at Foaly's tail, which was all that could be seen of him from around the corner. "Be quiet, civilian. I am the one in charge here!"

"If you break that, you won't _be_ alive." Foaly retorted from inside the shuttle. The sound of scattered button-pushing could be heard, and the hutch on the back of the shuttle opened. It came free reluctantly, groaning loudly as a few bolts twanged loose and making Holly doubt the sanity of the Council. Cudgeon must have had an affect on them…

With Foaly's obnoxious suggestions on how to pack the hold more efficiently, it took them nearly a half hour to pack all of Foaly's gear. After spending an additional fifteen minutes arguing about who would sit in front,

("I'm the best pilot, so I should drive."

"And I'm the Commander, so I get the other front seat."

"Absolutely not! I refuse to go on this mission with such imbeciles!")

they disembarked from the shuttle bay.

Holly was not pleased with her seat. It was too small even for her slender elfin frame, and Root besides her was taking up all of his meager chair and quite a bit of hers.

_Why can't he go on a diet?_ Holly wondered, glancing at his slightly jiggling potbelly as he turned to argue with Foaly about something or other. She blushed self-consciously, and returned to the view-port.

Ahead of her, all-too-visible through the side cameras that projected onto the plasma screen, was the short tunnel that led to the main chute. In a few moments the rickety shuttle would be engulfed within molten hot magma, hurtling at mach three towards the liquid core of the world…

_Don't think about it._ she chided herself, vaguely remembering a similar thought process last time she took a hot-shot as she clutched the joystick in the swaying cabin. _Foaly__ and Root are here, and they could both get out of anything._ But, when she saw Root with his tomato-red face bickering with Foaly, who did not look very helpful whilst strapped to a seat meant for bipedals, her hopes disappeared like money out of goblin wallet.

The tunnel opened up, and all three of them gasped in wonder. All of Mt. Everest and most of K-12 could have easily fallen side-by-side with room to spare for Mt. Ararat. At the bottom, seen with nauseating detail by the bottom-cams, was the magma, bubbling and frothing more then a dozen miles down with brilliant red light.

Root and Foaly's fight ceased immediately, and they grabbed at the handholds. They didn't trust in Holly _that_ much.

Holly grimaced as the fiery light brightened with the upcoming flare—or was it her imagination?—and she turned on the visor for the cameras. Being blind with the lives of three people on her hands could not be a good thing.

The tunnel came to an abrupt end, and the shuttle tottered precariously on the brink. Foaly was nearing the edge of insanity and was openly green now, having never ridden on a hotshot before (Root somehow managed to retain his red hue). 

_Colors of the rainbow._ Holly thought, staring down into the abyss. The shuttle lurched suddenly as a thermal swept passed them,  triggering less seemly lines of thought. _Last chance to turn back.__ I could take a_ real _shuttle in a few days, one that would be safer then riding the hotshots, and take on Artemis Fowl later…_

Holly smiled to herself, and pressed down on the joysticks. She could feel the Mud-Boy's scrawny little neck choking beneath her hands already. She wouldn't miss that for the world. Maybe.

The plummet down was one of those breathtaking experiences that would never leave anyone, even if they were mind-wiped. Holly could feel the inertia slamming her against the worn seat, stretching the flesh on her face until it was near impossible to steer.

They accelerated, falling towards the magma below at impossible speed. Fear curled around Holly's stomach when she realized something rather important.

The flare was not coming.

The rumble, known from well over a hundred logged hotshot dives, did not reverberate through her bones as it always had before, nor did the shuttle's speed lessen when pre-flare winds blasted from the core that would have normally given them the express shot to the surface.

Root realized it too; his face had turned pastel rose, the closest thing to white he could manage. "Not good." He managed, his voice sounding choked off.

"Obviously." Holly seethed, one hand working at the joystick frantically as the other pounded at the control panel. The stabilizer wings, normally only used for steering, sprung out to try and slow their mad descent, but were ripped off in a blur as they continued to accelerate. The engines also thrummed to life beneath their feet, slowing their descent imperceptibly as they were only engines for slight boosts.

Foaly's head craned from around Holly's seat. Him, not being able to see the view-screen from his vantage point, had not been able to see their current predicament. "Are we there y—" he gasped suddenly as his war against inertia gave him a glance at the view-screen. One brown hand stretched forth in vain to try and help somehow, but he was unable to reach it. A muffled _thump_, barely heard against the screaming wind whistling around them, sounded as he was slammed against his seat.

"Secondary wings!" he gasped, sounding pained from behind her.

Holly had not time for any pity, although her curiosity was momentarily quirked by the fact Foaly had some knowledge of flying craft. The Academy had not given its trainees any advice in matters like these; they depended on two facts:

1) That the .1 percent discrepancy will only get one pilot out of a thousand, and

2) That pilots stupid enough to try and see how far they could dive before pulling up were not worth having.

Of course, Holly was not feeling very comforted right now in the fact Root was muttering something that greatly sounded like a promise to stop smoking if this was stopped. She was considered the best pilot in the LEP, but this was unlike anything she had ever dealt with. Firefights with B'wa Kell goblins and obsessive-compulsive pixies she could handle, but this…

They were barely a thousand feet above the magma now, plummeting down at impossible speeds. Three seconds until impact.

"HELP!" Root roared, speaking into the com-piece in his helmet. "D'arvit, can someone HELP!!"

Holly glanced sidelong at his white—yes, white—face, and knew he was afraid too. Foaly's eyes bulged slightly in his backseat; whether from fear or the pressure exerted on them, it could not be told.

They hit the roiling surface, engulfing them in a world of heat and pain. Holly could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck curl from the blistering heat, her skin charring in its green LEP uniform, see the walls curve inward as they glowed red-hot, folding around them…

And then it stopped, the walls unfolding as the powerful inertia reversed itself to flip Holly's stomach. In astonishment she looked at the half-melted view-screen, only to see the walls of the very same chute flying past them in a downward blur.

Holly looked back at Root and Foaly, unduly surprised and, of course relieved. Would Root truly have to give up smoking?

Root glanced at Foaly. "Wasn't me." He stated, shaking his again-red head. "I was taking care of keeping us alive in the pressure and heat."

Foaly, although he looked sorely tempted to take the credit, shook his head as well. "Not a lot of controls in the back seat."

Holly pursed her lips and snatched the joystick, ignoring the pain from her blistered fingers. She wouldn't need a haircut now, judging by how charred everyone was. Besides, such questions as to _how_ they got out of that alive could wait until later. Foaly would be so pleased to have something else to think about.

Another problem surfaced when she brought up the scanner to find the surface tunnel they had been supposed to dock at: There was no tunnel, at least according to the undeniably melted scanner.

However, the strange upward force kept them hurtling upwards, and Holly, on Root's order, turned on the top-side camera. Since the image on the view-screen was blurred, due to the dip in magma they taken earlier, it only appeared as brown rock with a core of pale blue; the blue of summer skies.

"What the—" Root started, but was smoothly interrupted by Foaly.

"We're in a volcano shaft, and by the readings we're nearing the top. Set down on the volcanic plain outside it; it will probably be richly vegetated and will be able to provide food while we wait for rescue."

Root was not happy, despite the wise advice. "_I'm_ the one who's supposed to give orders around here."

Holly turned from the immediate task and glared at the bickering Fairies. "Shut up. I need to concentrate."

They did, although Root continued to glare at the smirking centaur. They didn't want to crash again.

Holly curved over the brim of the volcano, and was instantly lost amongst the spectacular view. All around her was desolation, smoke curling from vents on the massive peak's side. Rubble were in huge mounds to the north, north-east and north-west, huddled against brooding black peaks and almost glaring across the bleak landscape they undoubtedly once ruled.

Beyond the jagged peaks to the west was a beautiful forest of green, and a ribbon of silver before a great city of pure white crammed against another range of white mountains. To the north, just visible above the uninviting mountains, was a great marshland, desolate except for a few half-hearted attempts at shrubbery until a dark green blur on the horizon.

To the west and south there was a black lake, and the mountains melded into a vast desert of gold a brown. Even from their lofty position on top of the towering peak she could not see the end of it.

"Wow…" she whispered breathlessly, guiding the shuttle over the wasteland below to try and catch a thermal from the smoking land.

Foaly shattered the moment as he unbuckled his safety harness. "Go to the river." He stated, leaning over to tap the view-screen. "I believe we're in northern Pakistan, near the border with India. To the south would be the Thar Desert, so you'd have to land near the Indus River."

Root snorted, shaking his head as he, too, pulled free of his safety harness with an audible sigh of relief. "What about the Mud-Men settlements on the river and against the white mountains? We can't get too close to the—"

Suddenly the shuttle jerked upwards, making Foaly and Root instantly wish they still had their seatbelts on (Their mothers would have been so proud). Whatever it was yanked upwards again, re-flattening the pair to the tiny foot-space and further emphasizing the bruises on Root's forehead.

"D'arvit!" they all said simultaneously, trying to recover their balance as the shuttle lurched forward unsteadily. Holly swore again, earning no disapproval from Root, and flicked on the view screens until it showed what it was that was making them lurch.

"Eagles?!" Holly shouted, nearly stopping her struggle with the joystick.

Root, clutching the arms of his chair in a now upright position, stared blankly at the screen with another rose-hued complexion. "Eagles?" he asked stupidly, staring at the giant bird gripping the shuttle by its talons. "Bu—"

"Yes!" Holly cried, thrusting down with the joystick to try and free the shuttle. It made no effect at all in the crooked flight of the shuttle, and the giant eagle glared down at the half-melted camera with fierce black eyes. Holly was greatly reminded of Marie Antoinette before the guillotine by the sharp, shining yellow beak.

Foaly, stabilizing himself between the gap spanning the backs of Holly and Root's chairs, reached over and pointed towards a bright red button. "You can always use this…"

"No." Holly shook her head. "I won't kill an innocent animal, even if it is a giant." Her unspoken words, _That's__ what Mud-Men do._, rang out in the momentary silence.

Foaly fell back with a sigh, punctuated by another lurching stab forwards. "Well, since that _thing_—" he jabbed his hand upwards, "—took out our primary engines, be prepared for a ling ride and a hard crash."

Holly held back a heartfelt groan. Although she was more then a little uncomfortable with being at a bird's mercy, she wasn't about to fall to the level of Mud-Men. Namely, one by the name of Artemis Fowl.

_A/N: Artemis Fowl and all related associates are from the first book. Juliet is a tad OOC. Written by the Weeper._

At that very moment, Artemis Fowl was pondering the next message from theladygaladriel. As he expected, she (Or he?) had returned the message, gracefully ignoring his barbed insults as she wrote of her quest.

"Oooooooooooh! Does Artemis have a giiiiirl friiiiiiiiiiend?" Juliet asked, hanging over annoyingly above his shoulder. Some of her golden hair fell down and smothered Artemis' face, and he brushed it aside with an annoyed wave.

"No. She is a business correspondence, nothing more." Artemis said coldly, scrolling down on the e-mail message on his laptop until it showed the final page of her message.

Juliet pointed to the second-to-last line, her glittering green fingernails creating a rainbow burst on the computer screen as she touched it. "'Namrie?'" she asked speculatively. "I thought your lover would be a bit more creative with her nicknames for you."

A vein pulsed on Artemis' forehead. "First off, 'little fat one', it's not 'namrie' but 'Namárië', which apparently means farewell in her language. Second of all, she is not my 'lover', nor do I intend to ever have one. And I can't even begin to discuss what your paramours are like."

Juliet reddened to a near-Root hue. "He calls me 'gordita', not little fat one! And besides, they are always, like, the most totally hottest dudes around. Except, of course, for Orlando Bloom. Ohmygod if I really saw him I would MELT! He is SO HOT! I mean, Orli's got that awesome accent his gorgeous face the muscles…" (3)

It was at this point Artemis tuned her out. The dark study he frequented these days were his only refuge, but the bored Juliet often sniffed him out and went off while either discussing some male actor or wrestling. Nothing Artemis could do, short of threatening to fire her, could detract her from it.

Artemis frowned, examining the final paragraph more closely. The rest was just an outline of their mission and some of the people she wanted to accompany him, but this was where the Offer was made.

_ "For your services I am prepared to offer you a magical lyre, created from Lúthien Tinuviel's immortality when she chose to wed Beren Erchamion. It has passed down from her descendants until Elrond Half-Elven gave it to my daughter, Celebrían, as a wedding gift. When she unfortunately passed into Eldamar, she gave it to me for safekeeping until her daughter Arwen Undomiel came of age. Arwen let me keep it in remembrance of Celebrían and of her when she chose to remain in Middle-Earth with Estel Elessar, and I have kept it by my side for many long years. Although it grieves me to do so I must be prepared to offer you my daughter's most prized possession in exchange for your much needed services. I hope you will hold my words in consideration, for the sake of all of Fantasia._

_Namárië,_

_Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien."_(4)

Artemis sat back in his Marzeti, wrinkles of concentration replacing the scowl. He, after the convincing arguments she made, conceded to the fact that her brand of magic was not a hoax (If not the whole concept of 'Realms'), and would be willing to receive such a wonderful artifact as this lyre.

But with all these others? He did not trust being among such uncouth people, and he could easily imagine one being treacherous enough to stab him in the back. Literally.

Juliet ended her Orli rant, switching to the intricacies of wrestling. Although this topic was every bit as meaningless and pointless as Orlando Bloom's best role, it did provide a solution.

Butler was gone on vacation, catching up on his training with Madame Ko. Juliet had been left behind to protect the remaining Fowls—Artemis and his mother, Angeline. She was certainly adept at the 'art' of wrestling, and was nearly complete in her bodyguard training. She, despite obvious downfalls, would make an excellent guard for this mission.

With a smile of triumph curving his bloodless lips, he typed in one line;

_When do I start?_

(1) Means a less polite term for the rear end in French.

(2) A geologic impossibility. I should know; my dad's the head of a university Geology department. That's Colfer's explanation, anyways.

(3)'Gordita', at least according to Mithostwen's Spanish teacher, does in fact mean 'little fat one'. If it's wrong, I will blame her in person during Geometry class.

(4) That is very uncanonical. Bear with me here, since it is better explained later and will make sense. I went over it with a few canon Gestapos, and they thought it worked nicely

I KNOW it was odd. I am horrible at writing action sequences, so sorry about them. Many things don't make any sense now **but they shall in a few chapters**. Trust me. Don't send any reviews regarding these until Galadriel has a little chat with a lot of them.

_Vingilot__ and Pearl_ had to be pushed back until next chapter. Sorry.

If you have any questions not regarding things that appear to be plot holes (Such as the Council knowing about the Realms and having to get Artemis) don't ask. Anything else is fair game. I will answer each personally via e-mail.

Fixed version of chapter one shall be up soon. This one shall be after I get a copy passed around to my friends at school (And Mithostwen—we've just discussed this chapter).

Sorry about not updating for a while. If you truly want an explanation, e-mail me (But make sure you don't have any viruses).

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper

& Mithostwen


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